


Le Suppliante

by kittyperpetua



Category: Outlander & Related Fandoms, Outlander (TV), Outlander Series - Diana Gabaldon
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Play, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Ass Play, BDSM, Blow Jobs, Bondage, Canon Compliant, Cunnilingus, Dildos, F/M, Fluff and Smut, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Married Sex, Nipple Play, Oral Sex, Orgasm Control, Orgasm Delay, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Orgasm Denial, Rough Oral Sex, Sex Toys, Simultaneous Orgasm, Smut, Spanking, Strip Tease
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-07
Updated: 2020-01-11
Packaged: 2021-02-27 08:13:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 10,640
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22153828
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kittyperpetua/pseuds/kittyperpetua
Summary: In her continued efforts to heal Jamie spiritually and sexually after his brutal treatment at Wentworth prison, Claire decides she will submit to him completely while they rebuild their lives in Paris. She allows him to inflict some pain—and a lot of pleasure—while he reasserts his confidence as a man, a husband, and a lover.
Relationships: Claire Beauchamp & Jamie Fraser, Claire Beauchamp/Jamie Fraser
Comments: 53
Kudos: 334





	1. Jealousy

**Author's Note:**

> This scene takes place roughly after the 17th chapter of Diana Gabaldon’s Dragonfly in Amber novel, “Possession,” or in the fourth episode of the second season of the TV show, “La Dame Blanche.” A bit of a blend of both versions of the story, it’s another example of Claire coaxing Jamie back to her.

Occasionally an uncharitable flush of jealousy would rise within Claire, startling her with its vehemence and seemingly random intrusion into her daily life. She could be rolling bandages at L'Hôpital des Anges, half-listening to Louise and her friends tittering on about meaningless gossip, or worse—petulantly glancing at her dozing husband whenever he came home from his late-night galavanting with the Bonnie Prince. And despite her rational mind knowing that all his hours spent in taverns or at Maison Elise were in service of the greater cause they were fighting for, a fierce possessiveness overtook her at these unwelcome moments and caused her to scowl with anger.

Anger at Jamie, yes. She trusted him enough to know that he remained faithful even when the girls at the brothel would nuzzle him temptingly. She believed him when he said that he hadn’t, and wouldn’t, act on any of their invitations, despite lusting after the willing whores as any man might. But still, he was there, wanting them, craving their flesh even if he cared little for their feelings. She wanted him to want only her. He’d said as much when they’d argued about it previously, but he was hers, damn it!

Even more insidious was the feeling she recognized as guilt. She was angry, furiously so, at herself. Jamie had been through so much in the past few months, endured so much pain and brutality in his body and soul. If feeling a little bit more of the man he was before came from him humoring some of the flirtations of the pretty women at Maison Elise, couldn’t she let him have even that? Was she so selfish that after being unable to save him from the torture he’d endured at the hands of that despicable man, she’d hold his harmless desires against him even though he didn’t even act upon them?

Of course it was Black Jack Randall for whom she held the most contempt, and in these private internal soliloquies she swore oaths more vicious than she had imagined possible, condemning his soul to a circle of hell where the torture he’d suffer would be unmerciful and ceaseless. She knew that she was supposed to hold forgiveness in her heart, but she couldn’t bring herself to care. If hating the dead was a sin, she would gladly give up her soul along with her life in exchange for the pain Jamie had suffered thanks to Randall. If the devil himself were to offer her a wager to erase what had happened to her husband, she wouldn’t hesitate to accept. 

Claire knew that underneath the superficial pangs of jealousy she felt, wondering what Jamie was up to and who might be there to tempt him, there was a deeper sorrow for what had been taken from them both. Her husband was changed from the man she’d married, or even from who he’d been when he bedded her in his Laird’s chambers at Lallybroch. Tears welled up in Claire’s eyes whenever she recalled that last night in Jamie’s family home. After months of getting to know each other first as friends, then as husband and wife, they had finally acknowledged the words previously unspoken between them. Their wedding vows had been a promise to bond them until the day they died, but exchanging declarations of love was a promise to unite their souls forever, beyond the limits of this earthly life.

As he took her to his bed that night, Jamie had spoken soft and gentle things throughout their coupling. He was not a man to shy away from voicing his innermost thoughts when making love, passionately declaring what he wanted, what he needed. But that night as she laid beneath him, as he encircled her in his arms and whispered, moaned, and sobbed into her hair, he spoke only in Gàidhlig, his mother tongue. Usually when she didn’t understand him, Claire requested that Jamie repeat himself in English, but not that night. No, she didn’t know the definition of his words, but she understood his sentiment completely.

She knew without a doubt that it was that night—that last, perfect night—when they had conceived their child. With the protection of Jamie’s father’s sword underneath their bed, they yielded to each other in easy harmony, performing a dance as instinctively known in their bodies as the ritual movements of the witches at Craigh na Dun, passed to them as if by a gift from the divine. There, in the home where Jamie had been born, where he had grown into a young man farming the land that would nurture his people, he rocked into her like he was sowing the life of future generations of Frasers. He may not even have known if it was possible, given the worries Claire had shared about possibly being barren, but when he spilled his seed into her, Claire could almost feel the magic within her stirring.

Lost in her reverie, Claire sat on the chaise at the foot of their bed in Paris, resting her hand gently upon her stomach, reminiscing about how different that union had felt to the infrequent couplings they’d accomplished since fleeing to France. The love and passion was still there, of course, but his confidence was undeniably shaken. When he made love to her that night at Lallybroch, she had no doubt in his conviction that he possessed her completely, body and spirit. But when they came together now, after his rape and devastation at Wentworth, it was like a negotiation, where she had to coax him into trusting her.

Finally a realization dawned in Claire’s mind that it was the very transactional nature of the whores who tempted him that allowed him to seek even the small comfort of flirtation. If he chose, he could hand over some coin and be allowed to take whatever base pleasures he needed from those women, with not a care in the world for what he had been through. Jack Randall had robbed Jamie of his ability to possess even himself, and when Claire’s touch occasionally jarred him, stirring up a memory of his ordeal, he couldn’t be comfortable, even when he was enjoying that which he so dearly craved from her body.

In order to rescue Jamie from the depths of his despair in the torturous aftermath, she had had to lead him with a firm hand, like an expert rider breaking a wild mustang to be led by the reins. What Jamie needed now, she realized, was to be the one to lead. If she could show him that he had total control over his sexual impulses, it might be enough to remind him of the power he once had. She set her mind to it: she would submit to him, fully, and give him the gift of her trust. She wanted more than anything for Jamie to be whole again after what he’d been through. But for herself, she wanted the feeling that he desired her, and her alone, and that with the supplicance of her body, she could satiate whatever hungers he had, including those previously unknown even to him.


	2. The Proposition

Once she had set in her mind that tonight would be the night when she reclaimed her husband from the man who had all but destroyed him, Claire could hardly think of anything else. For the next week, Jamie would likely be more occupied with Jared’s wine business than with politics, as the Prince had made some allusions to stealing away for a few days to a countryside estate with a woman whom he would not name. It meant that although Jamie would likely still be abroad and not home to dine with her for supper, he’d at least be home in the late evening, rather than after midnight, and she’d have the whole night uninterrupted to see to her plan.

As she went about some daily errands, she noticed her hands were unusually shaky. She was nervous, and it was an unusual feeling to identify when thinking of having sex with her husband. She knew, deep in her bones, that Jamie would never truly cause her any physical harm, but what if he had a darkness within him that tested—or exceeded—the limits of what she could endure? His strength was undeniably one of the things that aroused her so much about him, that he could hoist her easily with one arm, but she’d also seen that strength put to violent use against many men with more muscle and fighting prowess than she.

And tonight she was resolved that she would not fight. He could raise the ire in her sure enough, and she’d given him a fair share of scrapes and bruises when asserting herself with him. But now she wanted more than anything to give over to him. To know that even if she was left with welts or bite marks like the ones she’d seen on his thighs the other night, that they were marks of her dedication to heal him from the purgatory he still lived in, despite his brave visage. Badges that proved to her that Jamie was truly possessed only by her, not by the vicious memories of his abuser, nor the flimsy temptation of an easy fuck.

But what if it did not work? What if she pleaded with him to use her, and he unleashed his subconscious rage, emptying himself of the grief and despair he felt towards Jack Randall, and the end result was not that he was unburdened? Claire hoped that tonight’s events would act as a chrysalis, that she would be putty in Jamie’s hands to mold them both into something new. She wanted for them to emerge on the other side of this experiment reborn, master of each other’s souls as they had pledged to be many months past at Castle Leoch. If instead, Jamie sunk deeper into a well of depravity, the distance between them growing farther… She couldn’t face that option. It was a risk she had to take.

As the afternoon sun yielded to dusk, she checked the clock nearly every five minutes. The hour was approaching when Jamie would return home. Finally it occurred to her where the remainder of her nervous energy came from. Once he did come home, she was going to have to talk him into the act in the first place. “Oh damn it,” Claire suddenly remarked to herself. “Beauchamp, how in the hell do you intend to spring this on him?”

She had earlier dismissed the servants from the main living quarters so that she wouldn’t have to make eye contact with any of them, and to hasten Jamie’s journey to their bedroom once he arrived home. Pacing to and fro in front of the fireplace, Claire decided to steel her nerves with another long pour of brandy. She heard the sound of the door closing downstairs and the muffled sound of footsteps as Jamie began to make his way up to bed. Claire gulped down the brandy and poured herself another.

A darkly sarcastic thought entered her head, and she chuffed, thinking of the young and ribald soldiers she’d served alongside who might have told such a black joke. Didn’t the kamikazes believe they were making the ultimate sacrifice to fight for their own worthy cause, before diving their airplanes straight into a target? She poured a glass for Jamie and set it on the table. “Banzai,” she muttered as she heard her husband’s steps approaching the doorway.

When he opened the door, Jamie seemed rather startled to see Claire standing fully dressed in one of her lovelier silk gowns. By this hour he imagined she’d be abed, not standing with a drink in hand and beckoning him to join her for a nightcap. “Claire, what the devil are ye doing up and in yer finery? Ye look bonnie but it’s far too late for ye to be coming home. Or… going out? Surely you're not headed to L'Hôpital at this hour.”

“Jamie, come sit with me. I’m not going out. I just… well, it’s been some time since we’ve been able to just sit together and enjoy each other’s company,” Claire feinted.

Still suspicious, Jamie assented, “Aye, it has. I suppose we’ve a wee bit of respite with Charles on holiday with his mystery woman.”

“A mystery, yes,” Claire said absently, before seating herself in the chair opposite her husband. Not one to be obtuse when someone was plainly exerting some effort to keep their composure, Jamie eyed Claire suspiciously, certain that she knew as well as he how transparently her face gave away that there was more on her mind than mere pleasantries. Nonetheless, he couldn’t easily give up a round of chess, and decided to play Claire’s game a little while, until she confessed what she was getting at, or he had to pull it out of her. She looked at him sheepishly and asked, “How was your day?”

“‘Twas a fine day, at that. Earned a new customer for Jared when calling upon a tavern. All in all, quite unremarkable.” He’d give her little urging to open up whatever secret she was sitting on. He’d been in enough negotiations to know that the upper hand was more often earned with restraint than with breadcrumbs. He stretched his long legs out in front of himself and leaned back to sniff the brandy appraisingly. Narrowing his catlike eyes, he watched Claire as she smoothed her hands over her skirt and adjusted stray wisps of hair behind her ears. He did indeed feel like he might be toying with a mouse. But as he realized that the hesitation on Claire’s glass face was not anger, the thought that he was on the defensive with her caused his own discomfort. Claire was rarely one to bite her tongue, so if she was preparing to have a serious conversation with him, it had to be that something was wrong. Perhaps she’d gotten a letter, or… what if something was wrong with the bairn?

“Sassenach—”  
“Jamie, I—”

The awkward clash of their simultaneous exclamations relieved some of the unfamiliar tension that sat between them. Jamie felt a weight lift from his chest when Claire suddenly giggled. She set down her glass, saying, “Jinx!”

“Pardon?” asked Jamie. He reached his hand across the table to graze hers where it rested on her brandy. Claire waved away his question, “Oh, it doesn’t matter.”

“Claire,” Jamie began, feeling slightly cross that she was keeping him on tenterhooks like this. They were allowed secrets, but his patience wasn’t what it used to be before his recent ordeal. Not that a Fraser’s patience is generally going to earn one any merits. He took a calming breath, as Claire often reminded him to do. “A nighean, talk to me. Something is troubling you, I wouldna have to be a seer to ken that.”

Banzai. She looked him straight in the eye now, and gulped. “Jamie, remember when we laid together, the first time at Castle Leoch after… well, after you… punished me?”

A shadow fell across Jamie’s face, “Aye, I do. I could hardly forget the way you held my dirk against my throat and I vowed I’d do anything to honor you. And I shall never forget the shame I felt, knowing I’d made you hate me for beating you after Fort William.”

Jamie lifted her hand to his face and placed a kiss on the the faint white scar across her wrist where they’d been bound in marriage. “I… I want you to do it again,” Claire blurted, shocking Jamie so that he let her hand fall limply against the table.

“What kind of trick is this? Aye, I ken you’re mad at me still for the late nights spent out at Maison Elise doing what _you_ told me to do to prevent the uprising,” Jamie growled. He pushed himself out of his chair and began pacing, pointing at Claire as a preemptive attack against whatever accusations she was about to level at him. “Jamie, no,” she began.

He continued, “I swore I’d never raise my hand to you again in rebellion or in anger. I know you may equate looking and lusting to adultery but it certainly isn’t akin to beating you, if that’s what you’re getting at!” Claire found that the higher her husband’s temper rose, the more composure she could muster.

“Jamie, stop. That’s not it.” He paused his tirade, but remained standing in case she was preparing to kick him out of their bedroom altogether. “I miss you, Jamie. I miss my husband. You know damn well that things have not been the same since… since Wentworth, and I’m ready to accept the blame for my part in that.”

Nothing she was saying made a lick of sense to Jamie. “I ken well enough that we’re drinking brandy, aye, Claire? Ye haven’t been getting into any of the absinthe from the cellar, have ye?” Claire rolled her eyes.

“Will you bloody well listen to me, you damn Scot? Or do I have to make you?” She couldn’t help but feel heat rise impulsively in her cheeks as well. Jamie took his seat, cautiously eyeing her. “Remember you asked me once if what there is between us is common? You didn’t want to accuse me of having—I think it was ‘vast knowledge,’ you said, of men. And I don’t, really.” Jamie pursed his lips at that.

Claire went on, “But I know you, Jamie Fraser. Inside and out. And I know that you have not been yourself with me, not since before. Not since Lallybroch.” Jamie’s heart sank. He knew he hadn’t been doing his husbandly duties by her. There was so much more complication now. The bairn, the memories of Randall, the burning love he felt for her, so great it might swallow him whole. The terrible fear he felt thinking that anything as bad as had happened to him could happen to her, and he wouldn’t be able to shield her, to protect her from it.

“What are ye saying, Claire?” Jamie asked, “Are ye saying you’ve wanted to search… elsewhere for this…  _ vast knowledge _ ? I’ll tell ye right now that we may be in France, but we’re not Frenchmen, you and I, and I would sooner face the noose by taking ye back to Scotland than living like that!”

Claire persisted. “Jamie, no, God damn it! I’m telling you that… I want to be what you need. I want to be here for you, in every way, to bring you back to me. I know that you’ve been living in a dark place. But I will live in it with you, as long as it takes, until you’re mine—all mine—again. Even with you telling me, I can’t imagine, I can’t truly know, what you’ve been through. I can’t forge the path forward for you, only you can do that. But I want you to use me, however you see fit, to find it.”

Jamie felt as if maybe he’d been the one nipping into the absinthe. He was ashamed to think how plainly his horrid experiences had soured him for his wife. Confused to think that she was wanting him to, to what? To beat her? And undeniably aroused, just hearing her say the words, ‘use me.’ How in God’s name would that help matters? For her to see him as a monster, as a brute? He met her gaze and could see in her face a countenance of love and compassion. And he knew he did not deserve her affection.

“Sassenach, I can see plainly that you’re trying, rummaging up such mad ideas to try to fix what’s broken. And while I can’t deny I love ye for it, I canna think what trying such a thing will do except make you hate me,” Jamie admitted.

“No, Jamie! No,” Claire said, taking Jamie’s hands in hers and falling to her knees at his feet. “I’m telling you that you are  _ not _ broken. I know you’re not. I know that deep inside you is the man who swore he would possess my soul that day at Castle Leoch. You must know that I am yours! Completely! There isn’t a thing I wouldn’t do for you, or let you do to me, if it would show you again that you are still the man I married. You are my master, James Fraser, and I will obey you. Show me. Show me that you are my master.”

Jamie couldn’t deny that there was a pit of disbelief in his chest, unsure if he could trust himself to claim his wife’s body as she offered, without destroying them both in the process. As if reading his mind, she kissed his knuckles that she held in her hands, and whispered to them, “I trust you, Jamie. I trust you.”

He would be lying if he said that he’d never got a cockstand from thinking of Claire completely at his mercy. When she was tightly laced into her corset, or yielding her body to him as he held her wrists high above her head. But a man that took what he wanted from a woman without regard to her pain or her pleasure was not a good man. In truth, neither was he a good man; rather, a sinner, an outlaw, and a victim at that. “No, Claire. I canna… I canna hurt ye, it wouldn’t be right. I love you too much—”

Claire looked up at him with a fierce expression in her eyes and dug her fingernails hard into the skin on his hands. His left hand was still clenched tight, Jamie having removed his brace when he got home, and he gasped at the sharpness of Claire’s grip. “Show me,” Claire growled. “Show me how much you love me!”

Yanking his hands away from hers he pulled them both to their feet in one firm, swift motion. “Christ, Sassenach! Get your wee talons off of me!” He was holding her by her upper arms now and towering above her, trying to decide whether he wanted to ravish her here on the hearth or have her sent to the madhouse. Claire’s eyes were wide at first with the shock of being hoisted so roughly, but then the corners of her mouth turned up into a devilish grin.

“Remember I told you that a sadist is someone who takes sexual pleasure from hurting someone? Well, there are people who take sexual pleasure from being hurt, as well,” she purred. Jamie’s heart was pounding in his chest. Now that was a part of the bargain that he hadn’t quite thought about. “Aye,” he ventured, “and what are they called?”

“Fucking masochists,” Claire replied. The look on her face spoke to him, and Jamie could see that she wasn’t going to give up this proposition of hers. Asking a wordless question, he tightened his grip on her arms and pushed her back against the mantle. She answered him with a soft noise as the wind was knocked out of her, a sound that was unmistakably one of her wee moans of pleasure. He stepped forward to close the space between them and press his whole body against her as she was pinned to the wall. Blood rushed to his face, and other parts, and he breathed heavily into her ear.

“Are you saying that you would enjoy it, Sassenach?” Claire tipped her head back and closed her eyes, knowing that once it was agreed upon, there was no turning back. She thought of all the times she had been overcome by pleasure when he’d not treated her gently, but instead fucked her with abandon. How many bruises had he left when digging his fingertips into her hips, or capillaries had he broken by biting and sucking and nibbling on her fair skin?

“I guess we’ll never know if we don’t try,” she ventured. Jamie loosened his grip on her.

“Well, then,” he said with a dangerous edge to his voice, “Where do we begin?”


	3. "Try again."

“I suppose… that’s up to you,” Claire replied in hardly more than a breath. This was new territory for them both, but Claire had a feeling that she would be more student than teacher tonight. “What do you want me to do?”

Jamie released his grip on her arms and turned away from her. He wanted her to get on her hands and knees then and there and plunge his cock into her, that’s what he wanted. But that wouldn’t do. He was wildly intrigued by the promise that Claire would be  _ his _ to do with what he wanted. But if he was going to take his pleasure from her, then she was damn well going to get hers from him as well. Eventually.

Quietly he stepped back towards the table and poured himself another glass of brandy. Whisky would have been better, but that was far from his primary concern at this moment. He sat back in his chair and fixed his gaze on her, his wife so beautiful that it took his breath away. She was still pressed against the wall with her palms flat against it, some curls springing loose from her hair and a pink flush to her cheeks.

“I want you to undress,” Jamie commanded. “Slowly.”

Claire tentatively stepped forward. This was actually happening. She was shaking again, a bit, and couldn’t help but be reminded of the way she felt on their wedding day. She began untying the laces of her bodice, steadying her nerves by counting in her mind as she did so. ‘One, two, three, four, one, two, three, four.’ She slid the stomacher out of the front of her dress and tossed it to the ground.

She couldn’t read Jamie’s careful expression as she watched him watching her. The bodice loosened, Claire pulled the sleeves down from her shoulders and folded the top of the dress down around her waist. Reaching behind herself—not _too_ awkwardly, she hoped—she unfastened the back of the dress and let it open to fall over her underpinnings. Jamie stoically sipped his drink.

Untying her bumroll and petticoats, Claire suppressed a smile. She couldn’t help but think how much simpler this would be if she were just wearing a brassiere and chemise from Debenhams. Stepping out of the puddle of rustling fabric at her feet, Claire inched closer to Jamie where he sat, watching her. The brandy still in his left hand, he moved his right hand to his groin and grasped the bulge of himself through the fabric of his breeks. Claire bit her lip, wanting to rush forward and straddle him as he sat. “Yer stays,” Jamie said quietly.

Trembling again, she pulled at the knot of the laces that was tied just between her breasts, and slowly threaded the cord out through the grommets that ran down to her navel. As the corset loosened and she could shrug it off over her shoulders, she sighed with the relief of her unrestricted body, the fabric of her shift the only thing grazing her delicate flesh. Claire began to step out of her shoes, but Jamie firmly interrupted her. “No. Leave them on, Sassenach.”

The rumble in Jamie’s voice when he called her that sent a shiver through Claire’s body. Her nipples hardened, begging to be touched. Her hands moved instinctively to her breasts so that she could satisfy that urge, but Jamie once again halted her movements with a louder, “No.” He had removed his hand from the front of his breeks. Somewhat startled, Claire stood stock still, not sure what to do next.

“You’ll only touch yourself when I tell ye to, ken?” Claire nodded wordlessly. A long moment passed as she wondered what would happen next. Jamie broke the silence.

“What do ye have to say to an order?”

“Yes, Jamie,” Claire panted.

“Try again,” he purred.

“Yes,” Claire acquiesced, “Master.”

Satisfied, Jamie leaned back and drained the rest of his glass. “Take off your shift.”

Claire did as she was told, untying the flimsy white garment and letting it flutter to her feet. She stood there, waiting, for what seemed like an age, while Jamie appraised her with lust, love, hunger, and something devious in his eyes. She kept her hands at her sides and stood tall, looking at her husband as he stared. Her breasts were rounder, and sat like heavy raindrops against the top of the compact swell of her belly. Claire’s nipples had darkened during her pregnancy, standing out against the ivory canvas of her skin. The hair had yet to grow back on her legs and mound, so Jamie could see the peculiar and delectable shapes between Claire’s legs, and a faint sheen of moisture glistening at the tops of her thighs.

As she waited for her next command, standing in her stockings and heeled silk shoes, Claire could envision herself as one of the girls working at Maison Elise. Decorated in fancy bows on her garters, with all her wares on display for the taking. Though she supposed that prostitutes were rarely paraded around brothels with their expectant bellies on display, Claire had heard that there were some men who would pay extra to bed a pregnant woman.

Jamie’s low voice interrupted her speculation. “Turn around. And take down your hair.”

As Claire faced away from Jamie, she reached her arms up and began unpinning the curls that had been so painstakingly swept up, until her full mass of dark brown hair fell wildly about her shoulders. “Mo nighean donn,” came Jamie’s voice, shockingly close to Claire’s ear. He had silently risen and stood looming behind her, inhaling the aroma of her but not close enough to touch her. She made to turn back to him, desperate for a kiss, but in a louder voice this time, he commanded her, “No.”

“Stand by the bed,” Jamie ordered. Claire eagerly obeyed, hoping that moving to the bed meant he’d take her, and soon, as the anticipation was far worse than whatever corporal activities she’d imagined Jamie would unleash on her. She stood, wanting dearly to turn around and look at Jamie as he approached her, but knowing that was not what he wanted. “Put your hands on the bedpost,” he said quietly.

‘Oh God,’ Claire thought, much too late. A vision of the time that Jamie left her backside striped and raw passed through her mind. She had been furious with him then, appalled that he would do such a thing when she had already admitted her wrongdoing and apologized. Jamie was again mere inches behind her as she gripped her hands tightly onto the bedpost. His voice was tentative this time, as he asked, “Are you certain, mo cridhe?”

There was tenderness in his words, and Claire surprised even herself with how strongly she replied, “Yes,” but Jamie still hesitated. She gulped and ventured one more assurance. “I trust you.”

Suddenly acting at a much faster pace, Jamie’s arms wrapped around either side of Claire to grasp her where she held on to the bedpost. He had picked up the lace from her corset on the ground, and he tied it tight around her wrists, lashing her where she stood. For a moment he thought of himself strung up at Fort William, awaiting one hundred strokes upon a hundred more with the cat o’ nine tails. He would forever be maimed by what happened to him there, but as he gazed upon Claire’s fine, round arse, so pale it was nearly reflecting the firelight, he knew that he didn’t want to mar her flesh. He wanted to worship it.

Jamie placed both of his large, warm hands on her surprisingly chilly buttocks, hoisting them up a bit, then letting go to watch them jiggle back into place. He wanted her skin pink with feeling, warm and smarting and ready to be soothed. Before he even realized, he had undone his belt and held it folded in his right hand. Something told him that he might want the assistance of a slight handicap, and he switched the belt over to his weaker hand.

“How many times did I tell ye, ‘No,’ Sassenach?” he asked her, mischievously.

“What?” Breathless, she remembered, “Oh, three. Three times.”

The “Aye” had barely left his mouth when she felt it, the smack of his belt shocking her with its suddenness as it made contact with her left cheek. The sensation had made her flex her hips forward, the length of her body pressing flat against the bedpost as she clenched her muscles in a futile escape from the blow. Jamie gave her a moment to compose herself. The belt had hurt, but in many ways it was the surprise of the sensation that was most overwhelming. Claire felt the skin that had been struck tingling, as if being poked from within by a thousand tiny pins.

“Oh, Claire,” Jamie groaned, as he gently ran the flat of his palm over the sensitive flesh. The contrast of his soothing, gentle touch after the contact that it followed gave Claire a queer feeling, and she let her body relax slightly as she leaned herself back, just a little bit, into the warmth and familiarity of Jamie’s hand. Leaning against the bedpost instead of cleaving to it, Claire was rewarded for her acquiescence by Jamie’s fingertips brushing gently up from the pink mark of the belt, tickling the downy hairs on Claire’s lower back and raising gooseflesh on her spine and shoulder blades. As the soft caress moved from one place to another, she let out a relieved coo, like a dove settling down after a flight.

“Two!” Jamie cut off her respite with a backhanded swat of the belt, assaulting the right side of her buttocks this time. Claire let out an ungraceful grunt as she received the second stroke, and sank into the bent over position that Jamie had coaxed her into with his tickling seconds before. The sight before him was one he would savor in his memories, Claire's round arse cheeks pink and tender above her long legs in stockings tied round her thighs. Her sex glistened as it peeked out from underneath her, and the tiny entrance just above it that he rarely saw exposed.

Jamie couldn’t help but reach his right hand forward and run his thumb down the slick length of her faighean, stopping at the bottom to rub at the wee clitoris, making her shiver. The feeling was intoxicating, and Claire once again pressed her hips back, trying to eke some friction out of the contact between his thumb and her most sensitive spot. Immediately, Jamie withdrew his hand. He was breathless looking at his wife, squirming with her wrists bound, desperate for his touch. A barely audible whine escaped her mouth as she tried to achieve some satisfaction by pressing her thighs tight together. Maybe she had been right about all this? He was her master, and he would grant her pleasure when and how he wished.

“Three!”


	4. The Beggar

Claire panted as she slumped, half-hanging from the bedpost, her legs locked straight for fear she would crumple to the ground if she tried to stand up taller. It really hadn’t been all that bad, but the ache deep in her muscles warned her that she’d certainly be sore tomorrow. More urgent than the sting of the sensitive skin on her backside was the thrum of need that had built between her legs. She had made herself vulnerable to Jamie and now that he had hurt her, she wanted nothing more than for him to be the source of her comfort.

Jamie dropped the belt to the ground, snapping back to the reality that he was standing in, his wife having provided herself to him as a plaything for his possession. Sweat was pouring down his chest, not from the exertion of the lashes he’d given Claire, but from the fierceness with which he had restrained himself, clenching every muscle in his body to reign in the beast of his spirit.

Still fully clothed, he folded himself around her, feeling nearly as spent as if he’d let himself loose inside her, and leaned his weight onto her back as she was bent halfway over, still bound to the bedpost. He ran his hands over her hair and began raining kisses down on her neck and shoulders as he moved his attentions down the length of her body. His palms traced the curve of her waist and hips, and lifted delicately away from the reddening skin of her buttocks. He dropped to one knee behind her and took a closer look at his handiwork.

It seemed he’d calculated right, and Claire was certainly going to be bruised like a peach come morning, but the welts would fade soon enough and she wouldn’t be permanently marked. With his hands wrapped around the front of her thighs, Jamie softly rubbed the auburn stubble on his face against the sensitive skin of her arse. Claire made a sharp intake of breath at the sensation, and it only drove Jamie mad so that he groped her with more abandon. He was determined to reward her for what she’d already done for him, though still the game was being played.

With a long, slow stroke of the flat of his tongue, Jamie dove into Claire’s sex, tasting her from the cleft of her mound up to the tailbone. Claire made an animal noise at that, something between a pleading cry and a wordless prayer. Spreading his knees on the ground to steady himself, he continued licking her in rhythmic circles, focusing his ministrations on the bundle of nerves he liked to see her play with sometimes when she rode him.

Extending his arms forward under her, Jamie felt for the pendulous swing of her breasts and grasped one in each hand. As he increased the speed with which he licked her, he began pinching her nipples between his fingertips, slowly adding to the pressure with which he held them clamped. Claire yelped at this, and her back jerked upwards a bit in reaction to the pain of his tight grasp on each of her buds.

But Jamie could tell by the sudden pulse of wetness meeting his tongue that the maneuver was doing its intended job, and Claire’s climax must be mere seconds away. In a heartbeat, he let go of her breasts and sat back on his heels, abandoning his task completely. Claire’s satisfied hum turned to a strangled gasp when he stopped touching her, and the tremor in her legs indicated that she was desperate for release. “Jamie!”

“No, a nighean,” he said lovingly as he grazed his right hand lightly up and down the back of Claire’s thigh. “When the time is right, I’ll have ye crying out to the heavens, lost to the feel of me inside you, claiming you. Oh, I will give ye your pleasure, lass, but tonight, it willna be until I’ve taken mine.”

Standing slowly as he regained his composure, Jamie felt dizzy, almost drunk off of the ambrosia of anticipation that he was torturing Claire with. Giving her respite from holding her weight up, he placed both arms underneath her thighs and lifted her up, raising her bound hands above and over the bedpost, until he was just cradling her quivering form. Curled in his arms, Claire could look at her husband’s face for the first time since she’d removed her shift, and face the countenance of the man whom she’d promised not to resist. There was a slight flush in Jamie’s cheeks, not of arousal nor desperation, but a little bit of shame. He’d just begun to peel back the curtain on what he’d fantasized about, and what if Claire stopped loving him for it?

There were ruddy streaks on Claire’s face as the shock of her lashing had caused her to squeeze out a few tears. But she gazed up at Jamie beatifically, with hope that what they were in the midst of doing together would finally return him to her, his truest, most guileless self. Aside from that, there was hunger in Claire’s eyes as well. Jamie was acting out lustful thoughts he’d only part entertained, and would give and take what he wanted with Claire on this night. But she was wide-eyed with anticipation, feeling like some part of her that wanted to be docile was finally being tended to. With her hands bound and folded in front of her chest, she reached both up to gently stroke Jamie’s chin with one finger.

He returned the affectionate gesture with a sweet kiss that would have seemed chaste had he not just been using those lips to explore the sensitive spots between Claire’s legs. Desperate for more, Claire pressed in to Jamie’s kiss, probing his mouth with her tongue, and moaning with desire unfulfilled. At first, Jamie relented, wanting nothing more than to kiss his woman as passionately as if he might never see her again. But then, as she squirmed in his arms, his cock reminded him that there were other ways he could use her mouth to satisfy himself.

Pulling his face back from hers, Jamie let Claire drop suddenly onto the bed. She made a startled, “Oh!” of annoyance, then stretched her body out before him, adjusting to the feel of the embroidered bedspread under her tender backside. The look of her body, long legs and arms reaching out from her beautifully curved figure, spoke to Jamie like music. Her pale form in the dimly lit room writhed like a white snake or selkie, and reminded her of moments when he saw her stretch like a kitten in her sleep.

Jamie took hold of the restraint he’d tied around Claire’s wrists and pulled her by it, sliding her body perpendicular to the orientation of the bed. As he stood there looking down on her, she was prone on her back with her legs reaching forward away from him, and her arms hanging down over the edge of the bed, above where her head rested directly underneath his. She looked peculiar, but bonnie, upside-down like this. He’d near enough memorized every shape she could make with her body, but to have her here completely vulnerable before him was energizing.

“What do you want me to do, Jamie?” Claire asked, reminding him that she was in actual fact his wife laid out before him like a doe, not just a figment of his deepest imagination. “Stay still, Sassenach,” said Jamie, as he peeled off his weskit and began untying his cravat. Claire looked up at him dreamily, herself enjoying the odd perspective of looking at her husband from an unusual angle. He pulled his shirt off over his head, and the looming mass of his torso seemed to be ten feet tall above her.

He leaned down and gently traced his tongue and lips along her sternum, touching Claire’s skin only for a moment before shifting to place his attention elsewhere. She fluttered under him like he was a series of butterflies alighting one after the other, traveling between her breasts and down her belly. As he moved lower, he began to touch her body with his, sliding his pert nipples and woolly chest across her, tickling Claire and causing ripples of goose flesh like he’d troubled the surface of a still pond.

One at a time, Jamie began rolling Claire’s stockings down, revealing her legs as he moved his hands down towards her feet. He gently removed her shoes and peeled the stockings off entirely, then traced his lips back up her legs and body as he returned to a standing position. Unable to control herself, Claire pressed her legs tight against each other, as if by squeezing shut her knees she’d be better able to endure the interminable wait before she could be overtaken by an orgasm. Jamie let her carry on for just a moment as he undid and dropped his trousers to the floor. She brought herself close enough to let out one low moan, and as she did, Jamie stifled her cry with himself.

With Claire’s head on the edge of the bed just before him, Jamie had to bend his knees to fit his cock at just the right angle of her open mouth, and lean his hands forward to press down on either side of her while he stroked the end of his penis in and out of Claire’s eager mouth. Startled by the invasion, Claire made curious humming noises while the tip of him bobbed past her lips, her tongue swirling around the somewhat unfamiliar object. Of course Claire had many times enjoyed pleasuring Jamie with fellatio, but they typically fit together quite differently. This time, her tongue ran over the top of his member, exploring a vein there she didn’t usually feel against the roof of her mouth.

Jamie let out some eager moans, as his balls had felt fit to burst since the moment he began instructing Claire to undress for him. He knew he’d lose himself quickly this time, but he certainly didn’t intend for that to be the end of tonight’s explorations. His buttocks were clenched as he controlled the speed and depth with which he leaned himself into her, and his eyes wandered all over her body, displayed so nicely out in front of him. He must have begun to lose focus on how quickly he was gyrating, as he heard odd rhythmic noises coming from Claire, in time to the tempo of his movement.

She began wriggling her hips from side to side as well, urging the friction between her legs to build up towards some relief, even though he’d told her expressly not to. Jamie let up on the spots where he’d planted his palms beside Claire’s waist, and instead reached forward to press her legs apart and hold them down by the thighs so that she couldn’t masturbate herself until he let her. The sight of her bare honeypot spread open just before him was like the hallucination of a mad man, and he knew that he was almost at his climax.

As he pressed down against her thighs, gripping into her flesh with fingertips sure to leave their own marks on her, Jamie unleashed his impulses and drove his hips forward, thrusting his cock into Claire’s mouth as far as it would go. She pressed her hands, still bound, against the front of his thighs to help control the depth at which he could impale her, and as he pumped firmly into her one, two, three more times, his bollocks swung and tickled her nose with their rust-colored, springy hairs.

Jamie lowed, crying out as he poured himself into her, and he could have easily collapsed atop her, laying all his weight down on her defenseless body. A quick, sputtering noise from between his legs interrupted this wave of exhaustion, and he stood upright, pulling his wet, drained member out of Claire’s mouth. She closed her lips and swallowed what she could, but the angle had proven fairly unwieldy, and most of Jamie’s spunk had spilled out onto Claire’s chin and the tops of his own thighs. Though she’d been able to breathe through her nose during his inverted activity, her eyes still watered with the effort of receiving him that way.

Jamie lifted Claire’s head up off the bed, and repositioned her to be oriented in the normal way, so that he could lay himself down next to her and feel her warmth as his refractory period subsided. “Mo nighean donn,” he whispered as he wiped her face clean with a corner of his shirt, discarded carelessly by the side of the bed. She rolled towards him to be held as he panted and absorbed the shockwaves of joy from having just released what seemed like eons' worth of tension from his body. “Are you happy, Jamie?” Claire asked him, somewhat sheepishly speaking directly to his chest, instead of meeting his gaze.

“Aye, Sassenach, I’m fair jubilant having taken all that ye’ve given me tonight. I canna imagine what in God’s name I’ve done to deserve a rare woman such as you, Claire.”

She nuzzled him then, pleased to see that his mood was considerably lightened. “Then Jamie, please, let me touch myself. I want to share the experience you just had, and I’ll lose my wits if I don’t have an orgasm soon!” Jamie held her and chuckled, delighted by how wantonly she was talking, and how ravenous he’d made her for satisfaction that only he could grant.

“Sassenach, in this life I hope to bed you and kiss you and touch you and earn as many of yer wee squeaking noises as I can, hundreds and thousands and millions of times over. But I canna let ye have it now until we’re done.” Claire froze in Jamie’s arms. “...Until we’re done?”

“Aye,” Jamie replied, matter-of-factly. “I dinna mean to set ye free from this, eh… bargain that ye’ve set, until I’m well pleased that you can take no more. And I ken there’s quite a bit more that I can do to make you beg… more than beg, Sassenach. I want ye to pray for mercy by the time we’re through.”

“Oh God,” Claire gulped.

“Aye. Like that…”


	5. Possession

Jamie tipped Claire onto her back and pressed his lips onto hers for a deep, powerful kiss that brought a low groan of passion out of his throat and resituated Claire into the feeling of wanting her husband to be hers again. To be her master, as she was his. He leaned back to look at her beauty, watching pinkness flush into her skin and her ivory white breasts rising and falling with every breath. He knew she’d decided that tonight, her body was his. And while knowing that lit a fire in Jamie’s belly, he also felt that he could lay there beside her and do nothing but look at his bride, feel the heat of her body, and be satisfied.

Now he began tracing his fingers gently over Claire’s skin, following the curve of her waist and hips, tickling the hairs on her arms, and marveling at the softness of her thighs. As his hands meandered, so too did his mind, as he had to decide upon what pleasures he would take out of Claire’s body tonight, and what pleasures he could give her as well. He’d long fantasized about having a woman’s mouth like that, even well before he’d wed and lain with Claire. But now he was spoiled for choice, and could determine whatever came next.

He’d certainly learned a trick or two from all of the hours spent at Maison Elise in company of the Prince. Occasionally the whores would serve a customer in one of the establishment’s sitting rooms, where prospective buyers could observe their skills. Sometimes the girls tended to each other, while an admiring crowd looked on. And occasionally the entertainment for the evening would consist of a demonstration of some sort. One of the girls would display a specific skill she’d honed, like contortionism or dancing. Or a salesman would test some titillating accoutrement on the girls, everything from translucent lace lingerie to feather-tipped stimulators available for rental or purchase.

Jamie cautiously eased his hand between Claire’s legs, tentatively checking to see if she were particularly wet and wanting. With his left hand, he held her bound wrists just over her head, and leaned in to kiss her once more. As his lips left hers, Claire sighed his name. Jamie responded, “Do you trust me, Sassenach?”

“Yes,” Claire moaned. “Master.”

“Then ye trust that if you obey my command, and withhold yourself from…  _ la petite mort _ , until I allow it…”

Claire finished Jamie’s thought, “I trust that it will be worth it.”

Jamie leaned over the edge of the bed to lean down and reach for a leather envelope he’d hidden among a chest of documents and such, tucked behind the headboard. When his hand found what it had searched for and returned to where Claire could see it, she had to stifle what was very nearly a peal of laughter. “Jamie, is that a… well, is that what I think it is?”

Indeed, it was a finely crafted length of ivory in the shape of a phallus, with a bulbous ridge at one end, and fluted at the other. Curious patterns decorated the shaft, like small pearls embedded in its surface, close to the base, varying in size and texture. Jamie began tracing it over Claire’s skin; its cool, solid mass causing intriguing sensations over her nipples and collarbones. “Are ye saying you’ve seen one of these before, Sassenach?”

Claire flushed—ridiculously, given the circumstances. “There may have been a nurse or two in the army who kept something like that handy when they were away from their husbands for many months. What are you doing with one?”

An image flashed through Jamie’s mind of Claire in a private moment, pleasuring herself with this imposter cock up inside her and a hand cupped around one of her own perfect breasts. “When they were selling them at Maison Elise, I had a notion that it might be a braw gift for ye, given all the nights I’ve been having to spend away from your bed,” Jamie answered truthfully. “Now I’ve got ye spread and willing underneath me, though I may no’ be quite ready to split you open again just yet, lass. At least not with my own flesh, is all.”

Jamie peeled Claire’s legs open before him and knelt between them. He bent down and kissed her deeply, tasting just a hint of his own saltiness that remained on her lips as he probed her mouth with his tongue. He slid his hands up Claire’s sides, running them all the way to her wrists, then pulled her arms around his neck so that she’d be holding onto him as he penetrated her. Slowly he brought one hand up and licked it, wetting his four fingers with a slick of saliva, so that he could test the waters, so to speak, and make sure Claire was wet and ready to be fucked. He picked the dildo back up from the bedspread and held it down by his groin, planting the base firmly against his pubic bone and aiming straight for Claire’s openness.

Slowly, he pressed into her, using his hips to drive the phallus into Claire with one smooth thrust. She let out a series of small noises that began as a curious squeak and morphed into a sort of husky giggle as her body adjusted to the sensation of the toy fitting snugly inside her, quite cold compared to the feeling she usually had of Jamie’s body heat warming her like a furnace from within. With his left hand curled underneath his wife, Jamie held onto her by the shoulder so that he could pin her still with the weight of his body. With his right hand gripping the base of  _ la curiosité _ , he pulled it out of her slowly, then with a ramrod thrust, sent it all the way back in.

The object was a bit thinner than Jamie’s own manhood, but a noticeable amount longer. Each time he slid it into Claire, she gasped at the sensation of being filled to the brim, the unyielding firmness of the object penetrating her depths. As the tempo continued, Claire’s moans became a series of small grunts as she acquiesced to the strangeness of being drilled by something foreign while the familiar mass of her beastly large Scot of a husband controlled her. Almost as soon as Claire could begin to get used to the strange dance of man and wife and marital aid, Jamie stilled his hips and took a more manual approach to the experiment.

Holding the end of the dildo, he pulled it most of the way out of her with a quick corkscrew motion, then returned it in kind, a fluid tattoo of a maneuver that allowed him to see how differently Claire would respond to the textural variations this particular model offered. As the bumps and ridges slid in and out of her, they alternately skimmed and pressed into the sensitive flesh just within her, the soft but powerful spot that drew entirely different noises out of Claire than when he played with just the parts on the outside of her.

“Watch yourself, a nighean. Look at your body as I take you,” Jamie sighed, appreciating that without his own hips driving into her, he could look down and see how she stretched around the phallus, her own wetness like a smooth gloss on the skin surrounding her opening. Claire moaned, and bent her head downward, then let out a short laugh that led Jamie to falter in his ministrations. Knowing what would drive her wild beyond the capacity to be amused, he slid two fingers of his left hand on either side of the small peak at the top of Claire’s mound of Venus. With a twinge of mischief in his voice, he asked, “What is it that you find humorous, my own?”

Claire cooed, then explained, “I can’t quite see past my belly these days… not in this position, anyway!”

Jamie hoisted Claire’s hips up onto the tops of his thighs, affording his wife a better view. The change in the angle at which her body was being penetrated caused her to let out a low, guttural moan. With that, Jamie’s cock began firming up again, saluting at attention between the halves of Claire’s round arse while he rocked her pliant body against himself. “Jamie,” Claire panted, “I want to wait until you tell me to. I know it’s what you want. But I’m so close.”

With that, Jamie knew that their game was nearing its conclusion. “Aye, Sassenach. Now you’re completely at my will, are ye not?” Claire clenched her fists and couldn’t quite muster words in response. All that came out was a pleading, “Mmmm… ummmhh!” of assent.

He pulled the dildo all the way out of her now and cast it aside, then lifted her arms back up from behind his neck. Gently, he undid the knot with which he’d bound her wrists earlier in the night. As the wave of rising tension ebbed and began to leave Claire’s body, she stretched out languidly beside him, rubbing the slightly reddened skin where she’d been captive. As she opened her eyes, which had been shut tight with the effort of resisting her orgasm, she cast a longing glance at Jamie’s cock, pointing straight out from the dark copper curls that ran down the bottom of his taut, muscled stomach. A bead of anticipation glistened at the end of it.

He spoke, gruffly, as he resituated her, Claire’s arms now free to support her weight independently. “You’ll come wi’ me, Sassenach,” he beckoned. “When I’m finished ridin’ ye, and I’m at my wit’s end, you’ll have your pleasure then. But no’ a moment sooner, ken?” He didn’t give her any time to respond as he flipped Claire over and decisively tugged her hips back towards him. She was braced now, knelt down with her weight leaning on her elbows and forearms, that beautiful soft arse of hers a sight of everything wanton Jamie had ever felt, right in front of him. With a quick thrust, he drove himself into Claire’s  _ minou _ , which received him eagerly, having been readied by his ministrations with the dildo.

Claire grunted loudly, and Jamie knew that he would not last long, even with his previous release not having been more than an hour prior. There was only one more thing that he thought would truly be the  _ piéce de rèsistance _ , a capstone to this adventure that Claire had beckoned him on. Certainly his time at Maison Elise had taught him that some women liked a bit of extra sensation to make their eyes go wide during a romp, not to mention some men. Claire had offered her body to Jamie with no conditions, and he suspected that a surprise like the one he had in mind might be most welcome to his lusty bride. After all she’d endured without the relief of her own completion, this might be just the added fanfare to take her finally across the finish line.

Swiftly, Jamie swirled his right thumb in his mouth as he grabbed a handful of Claire’s thick, mahogany curls in his stiff left hand. As he pulled her hair, not gently, but tenderly, he began rubbing his thumb in small circles over and around her arsehole, applying pressure until the tip of his digit entered her with a small pop. Claire made a high-pitched intake of breath and her body tensed at first, unfamiliar with the feeling of having something up her rear.

But as Jamie continued to penetrate her more… traditionally, the feeling of him holding on to her from  _ there _ gave her a sense of fullness that was richer and more all-encompassing than she’d ever conceived of. She rocked her hips a bit, investigating the sensation, and her body softened as she yielded to the pleasure of it. “Oh, oh, oh!” Claire exclaimed, “Oh, Lord! Jesus H… Roosevelt… Christ!”

Seeing her surrender, feeling her grip onto him, Jamie was done for. He tightened the fist with which he was grabbing her hair, and as he reared back for his final thrusts, he half-roared, “I told ye I’d make you pray! Now, a nighean!”

Claire’s orgasm flooded her senses right away, and her body bucked and tossed as she succumbed to the experience. She felt at once thoroughly grounded to her physical form, synapses firing and sensations rippling over every inch of her body, and also untethered completely, a mere conduit for the waves of ecstasy surging through her. Jamie’s release began a split-second later, as his wife came with abandon around him, beneath him, above him, and within him. Their bodies were not theirs, then, but independent vessels for the experience that their two souls were sharing.

When the lovers began to return to the plane of consciousness, they wouldn’t have been able to venture a guess as to how, or when, or why they had disentangled. They were flopped down beside each other, both sticky and sweet with the sweat of their exertion and the proof of their rapture. Jamie felt as if his skin were vibrating, and he wondered if this was the rapturous buzzing that Claire had described when he had taken her to the stone circle at Craigh na Dun, before. For surely, he’d been possessed by spirits of some kind, likely faeries if not demons as well.

“You’re mine, Claire,” said someone’s voice in a clear, assertive tone. Could that have been him that spoke? Jamie wasn’t sure if his mouth would even work to form words ever again, but that certainly had to have been him. “Mine alone,” the voice—he, Jamie—continued, “No one else’s.”

Claire hadn’t the capacity to speak just at that moment, her mouth suddenly quite dry. Instead she mustered the herculean strength necessary to reach out and place one hand upon Jamie’s chest, their bodies fused by the heat of the air around them and the synchronized beating of their hearts. Not needing words to understand her meaning fully, Jamie answered her as his ability to communicate slowly returned to him. “Aye, mo nighean donn, and I am yours.”

❦


End file.
